Me Tarzan, You Jane
by jessspider
Summary: Felicity has a moment where she wonders briefly about the series of rescues she experienced swinging from one place to the other in Oliver's arms...extremely brief drabble ...literally a fly on the wall on friday night in her apartment and a penny for her thoughts...
1. Me Tarzan, You Jane

Disclaimer: I do not own Arrow, or the characters of this show, or 13 going on 30, or Tarzan and Jane. Just humble appreciation.

Author's notes: Just a brief Felicity snapshot/moment. This particular thing, of Oliver swinging Felicity about really bothered me - I just found it hilarious but also so breathtaking, and to have them do it twice in the pilot for season 2, just made me think that the show runners were really teasing us hard. This is just the recognition of that. Plus, I wanted to contribute my humble two cents to the world of Olicity. I love so many of the fics I've been reading on the site lately, and I know I'll never come that close but this little fic is part of my emotional venting process. Very short..?drabble do they call it? Mind stream. Less tidy.

I hope you enjoy. Thank you for reading it. Reviews as you see fit. Positive reviews more than welcome!

* * *

'Me Tarzan, You Jane…'

She spoke to herself out loud in her apartment kitchen while stirring the hot chocolate she was readying for herself.

She laughed in ridiculous frustration. She had just finished one chick flick, and was about to cozy up with another on her couch. Her mind had been on Oliver, the way it was always on Oliver lately. The chick flick only did so much to take her mind off of him, which really was not at all.

But somewhere between rising from the couch and padding over to the kitchen, she was thinking about the first time Oliver and her swung from one proverbial point A to the other proverbial point B. In the elevator shaft of the Merlyn building, it had been the most frightening thing she had ever done. But having him hold on to her, less than a hand span between their faces as he stared into her eyes, before swinging over it was all she could do herself to stay focused.

Somewhere in that moment between them, she wondered what Oliver really thought about her faux-pas. Something crossed his eyes when he looked at her, the tiniest of flashes, but was instantly shut down. Singularly focused, he said nothing, knowing that answering her words right then would lead to no successful outcome in that particular precarious position.

When she had wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, all she could think about at the time was 'don't look down', but some subliminal aspect to her sensory perception knew full well what it was like to have his strong, reliant arms hold her firmly against his sturdy, beautiful form.

She laughed to herself in frustration, because her calculating analytical mind had wondered whether the events that had come to pass after, if there was some unknown universal engineering involved in two further moments where they swung again from different A points to different B points.

Those times had been actual rescues. Maybe, she thought to herself in pure sci-fi geek fashion that the universe had altered its timeline to align itself along her hopeful wishes and perhaps even Oliver hidden's reaction to her words in the elevator shaft, that maybe it had left him wanting to hold her again in his arms 'under different circumstances' too, as she had put it, under 'entirely platonic circumstances'. Those circumstances involved holding her close and ensuring she didn't die, and precisely because of those circumstances, he couldn't help but be Oliver the hero, whose inner Tarzan came out whenever his Jane was under threat.

Having stirred her chocolate milk, she threw the spoon into the sink to wash later. Walking back with it, she set it upon the coffee table next to the already melting tub of ice-cream and snuggled both feet under the blanket she had left on the plush cushions earlier.

The other two times, the island, then the office building, when he swung her to safety, she had been both petrified and overwhelmed. The fear was for her life, but the thrill of the rescue and the swinging from one place to the other, both times, had left her breathless. She now half expected for Tarzan to make an appearance again.

She had to admit to herself, as she hit play on the DVD remote, that secretly, she wondered if Oliver loved having her in his arms, constantly swinging her from here to there, each time in the most grandest of fashions, leaving her at times with unnecessary unresolved thoughts too sexy in nature. Having her own personal Tarzan was not something everyone could say they had experienced. Oliver to her, was more than that of course, but it was his sheer manliness, almost direct and surprising ability to yield authority and strength when required to make that swift, singularly paramount decision in the face of threat that caused her to remain like a babe in his arms, willing to yield at his feet, like Jane in Tarzan's arms, this was the breathless she felt.

How were any of those rescues not indicative of his most attractive feature – his heart, his willingness to save her life, to risk his own to ensure her safety?

Felicity picked up her hot chocolate and took a sip. She exhaled a satisfying sigh at the drink, and tried to turn her attention back to the DVD at hand. She was watching 13 going on 30. Feeling somewhat sad at the 13 year old character in the film, her mind wondered back to her own childhood days. It soon went to Oliver though, and what he might have been like when he was younger.

Distracted by the blinking light on her phone, she reached across to pick it up. Another one of those Promo texts for Pizza deals. It was 9pm and one of her rare Friday nights where she was not doing any random computer related bug fixes, checks and running algorithm sequences of any sort.

Under her sofa, she pulled out her journal which she kept there at times after penning random entries. Yes, she was an IT girl, but the world's most secret and best of all hackers didn't trust recording her secret thoughts on anything technological. The advantage of a journal, was that she could write without being specific if necessary and also hide it from being located. It wasn't so much of an advantage, as it was something that 13 year old Felicity may have done, a habit she kept despite being a beautifully skilled technological queen.

Writing things down allowed a different brain, hand, mind process to unfold and be in play. It also unlocked the secrets to her heart.

The only thing she entered into it for today, were the words, _'Me Tarzan, You Jane. Thank you for saving me Oliver, for coming to my rescue.'_ Date and time penned in, short words but a memory marker for three rather intense events in her life where she was possessed by another for split second, entirely under platonic circumstances, of course. And she returned the journal back to the secret spot she pulled it from, placing it back into its typical home under the couch, hidden in the underlining, zipping it shut.

* * *

_Possible tbc.._


	2. His Girl

_A/N: Spoilers for Season 2 on from an idea from my other drabble - Me Tarzan, You Jane_

_I hope to perhaps have Oliver's POV in here sometime - not sure - just playing with this idea for now._

_Share in my frustrations everyone! Hope you enjoy. This whole thing is a consequence of my angst._

_Special thank you to SandraDeee and Kimmers_

* * *

'Felicity,' he held her face in his hand, 'you'll always be my girl.'

His eyes locked with hers. She leaned into his hand a satisfied shy smile on her face.

If she could hear any words before she died, those would have been it. As it was, she definitely thought she was dreaming thanks to the crazy feel-good of Diggle's aspirin.

The Arrow walked passed her, leaving her to stare into the twinkling eyes of a bemused Diggle. Just what she needed – her aspirin supplier.

* * *

Sometime the next morning, after she woke up to the golden rays of warm sunlight streaming through her window, the events of last night came flooding back to her.

Make that the events of the last 24-48 hours.

Felicity never thought she would literally feel as though someone had set a meat cleaver upon her shoulder, let alone the way she generally felt. Heavy and weighed down with unexpected exhaustion after last night's analgesic high, she slowly turned herself toward the left hand-side to reach for her phone.

She sighed. Her right shoulder still stung.

Holding the phone in her left hand, she checked the time and for any messages she may have received overnight.

Nothing. It was 6.30am.

Someone had taken her home last night. If memory served her correctly, it was Diggle. Ever the good man, he dropped her off not before making sure she was safely in bed. Still wearing the blue shirt and bra from yesterday, she remembered briefly waking up in the middle of night to a restrictive skirt which she removed herself and kicked off to the floor.

Yesterday had been unbelievable. She managed to single-handedly seek out and stop Tockman all the while taking a bullet graze in the shoulder. Somewhere between the lair and being sewn up, she vaguely recalled sitting in her pastel blue bra, with Oliver and Diggle standing in front of her. Well, standing with their backs to her. She remembered Oliver trying not to turn around but he stood halfway between fully away from her and facing Diggle. She remembered this of course because she remarked to herself that his butt looked extra lovely tonight only to have such a view taken away from her when he presented almost profile.

When he came to face her, her shock at his knowledge of her admission to Diggle, of feeling unworthy and left out, placed her too open before him in her drugged state. She admitted to Oliver the contents of her heart and unbidden truth. That she thought she would always be his girl. Of course, she tried to course correct her mouth but she wasn't sure she completely hid her heart.

She must have said 'girl' three times because that was the only time in the whole 48 hours if not longer, when Oliver's features finally softened towards her. She had not realised it, but she bore a weight, a weight that since her 'Thea' revelation, she was walking on tip-toes around Oliver, working extra hard to not be a memory of the one who shattered his life, shattered his whole world. She truly felt awful about that, and she was not half certain that Moira's prediction was not real. That he would forever hate her. If not be unable to see her the way he once did.

Imagine her heartbeat at the surprise she felt with his words.

His girl.

It felt like more. It felt like Oliver was acknowledging his distance and firmness, his recent hard-nosed focus and compartmentalised-coping in the face of the truth of what had happened on the day Moira's candidacy was announced and what Felicity was to him, and the significance of that relationship.

Oliver, subtle in his digs towards Felicity being able to unearth secrets where Tockman was concerned, was very thinly veiled. If Felicity reacted to it, she did not let it show. Eggshells. Of the proverbial sort.

The worst part came when she was caught in her neon pink-black vest-short-exercise outfit. And what was wrong with that? Felicity had sparred before with Diggle, surely, why should what she was wearing be an oddity in the lair given her past history of working out with Diggle. His frustration, if not evident authority in his questioning her made her feel like eggshells were a thing of the past, this time, walking around avoiding broken glass was actually what she had been doing.

As she lay there in bed staring at the yellow light across her ceiling, she sighed again.

Whatever it was that had happened between them the last week, she felt like a part of her universe had been restored when he finally touched her face and met her halfway. She had Diggle to thank for that.

She pulled out the covers of her bed and padded over to the living room. Sitting on the couch, she reached out for the journal she kept in her secret place and scribbled the date and time, penning in the following words:

'Felicity, you'll always be my girl.

Bullet. Tockman. Diggles aspirin.

IT girl saves the day.

My heart is restored, for as long as I am his girl 'Wednesday' or not, something in this world remains right.'

She withdrew herself back to bed and left the leather-bound journal back on her cluttered bedside table not before taking another 'aspirin' that Diggle so kindly left behind. She soon found herself softly sleeping for a few more hours, dreaming dreams of being his girl with her own new nickname.

'Watchtower…' he called her and Felicity smiled.


End file.
